


Knight in Dark Blue Wool

by Twisted_Barbie



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Language, M/M, Massage, Oral Sex, Prostate Milking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 04:56:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4291497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Barbie/pseuds/Twisted_Barbie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obligatory modern AU escort fic.  </p><p>With the grabby hands and disdain from his prominent shareholders, annual meetings have become a painful chore for Thorin and his only solace is alcohol and bad life choices. Cue Dís and a drunken conversation from months ago becomes a reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knight in Dark Blue Wool

He couldn’t find his car keys and he was running late. They were usually placed on the breakfast bar or on a hook beside the phone but he had come home annoyed and instead of hanging them up like a decent human being he slung them into a black hole apparently. His flat was tidy, one may say sterile with the white barren walls and Brazilian Walnut wooden floor so where the keys had got to he could not say. He had been told on more than one occasion that his flat was a show home devoid of any personal touches except for one framed photograph standing proudly on the mantelpiece above the white marble faux fireplace. 

The Imperial March begins to play over by the breakfast bar and he drags a hand over his face biting back a scream of frustration. Of course Her Majesty would call now, as if he didn’t have enough to worry about and his new Paul Smith shoes were pinching. Deciding not to keep his sister waiting he walked over to his kitchen to collect his phone, what was it now the iphone 26? It seemed they brought out a new model every week. 

“Guten abend mein Führer.”

“Ha, very funny Thorin, where are you?” Thankfully his younger sister sounds more amused than pissed so this must be his lucky day. 

“Just call me Carmen Sandiego.”

“If I wanted sass I would call my sons but they, unlike you, are already here.”

“I’m sick,” he offers with the most pathetic coughs he can muster. 

“I’m sick of you,” Dís retorts. “What is it this time, swine flu?” 

“Could be, or bird flu maybe even flu flu. You know it might even be mad cow disease, I’ll stay at home and keep it contained you may thank me later.” 

“If you are not here in the next five minutes you’ll wish you had mad cow disease.” Dís warns with finality in her tone which she clearly inherited from their mother. 

“I can’t find my keys,” he whines sounding no better than her sons he’d wager. 

“You have legs Thorin, use them.”

“And be mugged? No thank you.” He looks around his flat again, but the lights are low, mood lighting apparently which was appropriate because he was certainly in a mood now, a bad one. 

“There’s someone here waiting for you,” Dís croons down the phone and he shivers in disgust. 

“Let me guess, Azog?” Azog Gundabad was a seven foot tall albino ex-bodybuilding champion who was disqualified from the UKBFF national championship and all future events due to him abusing steroids. How that led him into the stock market he did not know, but Azog held a sizable amount of shares in both Moria and Erebor Tech that they had little choice but tolerate his presence at functions. “Is he wearing a white vest and skinny jeans?” 

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Dís accuses and he images she is looking around for him.

“No, just a guess because he always wears a white vest and skinny jeans even though the invitation clearly states shirt and tie. He either can’t read or doesn’t own a suit, probably both.” His eyes are drawn to his white Icelandic sheepskin rug and he spots the metal key-ring Kíli made for him in Secondary School. It’s crap to be honest but it was the thought that counts, Fíli’s was much better but his was attached to his office keys. He walks over and collects his car keys. “Is the Cashmere Cunt there?” He hears a startled bark of laughter from his sister as he collects his wallet and exits his flat. 

“He’s a cashmere candy cane,” Dís says through laughter. “But seriously Thorin, get here someone is waiting for you.” A conversation from months ago comes back to haunt him. He had been complaining about Azog being too grabby and Thranduil being too much of a prick that the functions were barely tolerable. Dís had suggested he find a date, not that it would stop Thranduil from being a dick but it might ward Azog off. Still, it was easier said than done, as there were too many false people especially in London. Dís in her infinite wisdom, or more than likely drunken musings suggested he try an escort agency but he had refused saying it stank of desperation. 

“Please say you haven’t done what I think you’ve done.” He says while stepping into the elevator and selecting the garage level. 

“His name is Bilbo,” Dís tells him gleefully.

“Bilbo, really? That’s the best he could come up with?”

“Bilbo Baggins.”

“Seriously, not even Bilbo Shaggins?” 

“I bloody hope not for how much he cost. He is from a high-end escort agency not some coke-head off the street.” Dís becomes quiet and he exits the lift and makes his way to his blue Volvo V40 hatchback, which is a thing of great mirth to all of his business friends and colleagues. He doesn’t care as he has had his fill of flash cars, as a boy he always dreamt of owning a Bentley the price of which cost the same amount as owning a house in the country. It was an astronomical waste of money and he eagerly waited the day when he could spend money so frivolously. When the day came and he left the showroom driving a brand new Bentley Flying Spur V8 he felt like a king so much so he bought a private license plate that spelt King. It was a black, sleek four door so he could take his sister and two nephews out and generally pose. Unfortunately he was one of those people that named their cars, he doesn’t know why as no one else in his family named their motors but that was his vice and he named the Bentley Smaug. 

He had loved Smaug, it was a beast of a machine and could tear up the motorway but apparently the motorway was just as equip to tear up Smaug, his tyres at least. He wasn’t even speeding when he was driving up the M25 London Orbital Motorway between Junction 12 and 15 when the front tyre blew out causing the car to spin into each lane before losing momentum and bumping into the barrier bringing it to a complete stop. How he survived he did not know, had it been rush hour he would not have lived to tell the tale but lucky for him he was driving back late at night when the roads were as clear as they were ever going to be. 

He took Smaug back to the dealer, screaming and cursing and generally causing a scene. His ire was not stirred because his life was in danger but for the fact that he could have easily had Dís, Fíli and Kíli in the car with him and a fatal car accident could have wiped out the remainder of his family. So he sold Smaug, gave the dealership a one finger salute when they tried to offer him a deal on a new Bentley and looked on-line for the safest car there was. The Volvo was only a seventh of the price he paid for the Bentley and it always struck a nerve that he had paid so much to have his life cut short. So he let his colleagues laugh at his car, which he named Minty due to the air freshener and he took it because the safety of his family meant more to him than their shallow opinions. 

“You should see him,” Dís whispers snapping him out of his reverie. “Three piece suit, Boss I reckon, dark blue wool.” He groans down the phone in annoyance rather than pleasure. This is what he had to put up with having a fashion designer as a sister, she would wax poetical about what someone was wearing without ever considering to mention what they looked like. 

“His looks, Dís, what does he look like?” He’s annoyed that he is even asking, as he gets into his car and sets up the hands-free. 

“Oh well I know you like them short so he’s about five seven, mousey blond hair, hazel eyes not as pale as you but you look like death warmed up on the best of days.” 

“Thanks,” he snaps pulling out of the garage. 

“He’s a leg man, I told him you have legs that go on for days.”

“What, why do I have to be aesthetically pleasing? I’m paying him.” 

“I’m paying him,” Dís reminds him. “And if you don’t get here soon I’ll give him to Fíli.”

“I’m ten minutes away.”

“I’ll be waiting outside with your date, see you soon, love you.” He shakes his head in embarrassment as Dís makes kissing noises down the phone and he’s not sure that he is embarrassed because she is doing it or for the fact that he likes it.

“Love you too,” he calls back, adding a kiss of his own before ending the call. 

Dís was not kidding when she said she would be waiting for him, as he pulled into the parking lot he could see her approaching dragging someone with her. He cut the engine and stepped out of the car, locking it as he went to intercept his sister. She was breathing heavily and walking awkwardly on the cracked asphalt in too high heels. 

When she was not hunched over he saw her scandalous attire, a mint Maxi dress with a plunging necklace that showed far too much of his sister’s ample chest and it had a cut out detail exposing his sister’s ribcage and down to her hips. He immediately shuck off his Z Zegna mohair navy blue blazer and draped it over her shoulders. 

“Oh stop it!” Dís fussed as he began to button up the blazer to cover his sister. 

“Remind me who the street walker is?” He hissed, not thinking and certainly not paying attention to Dís’ little shadow. 

“I prefer the term escort to be fair.” He squeezes his eyes shut and mentally curses himself before opening his eyes and looking at the man that had just spoken. He is as Dís said roughly around five foot seven mousey blond hair that the kids were calling bronde these days. Hazel eyes, cute button nose and short hair that curled around his strangely pointed ears, but what Dís failed to mention was that he was gorgeous. “You must be Thorin,” the escort smiles revealing a set of perfect white teeth as he holds out his hand. 

“I must be,” he replies aloof and shakes the offered hand. 

“Bilbo Baggins, at your service.” 

“I’m not wearing this, Thorin.” Dís interrupts petulantly tugging at the blazer. She was a formidable woman and sometimes put the fear of God in him but there are rare occasions such as this when she is nothing but his outrageous baby sister. 

“You should have thought about that before you dressed like a hooker!” He argues and quickly turns to Bilbo. “No offense,” the man just waves his hand, amused. “You better have a wrap or that blazer stays on.”

“I have a shawl,” Dís says while unbuttoning his jacket. “Honestly Thorin, you’re not my father.” She hands the jacket back and he puts it on. Aside from the revealing dress her black hair is up in a bun and framed by a tiara with two curls hanging either side of her face. Her make-up is light except for the eyeliner to accentuate the blue of her eyes and she is wearing their mother’s diamonds that were left to her in her will. 

“You look beautiful, even for a tramp.” It’s a barbed compliment but she takes it with a too wide smile and a mock curtsey. 

“You look handsome, brother dear, I shall tell Azog that you have arrived.” She replies sweetly and takes her leave and he knows without a shadow of a doubt she will be fulfilling her threat of telling Azog. 

“Siblings eh?” He remarks and buttons up his blazer.

“I’m sorry I wouldn’t know.” His companion replies sadly. “She seems nice.” 

“She is nice,” he agrees. “She just has a poor choice in wardrobe and men.” He doesn’t know why he adds the latter as it is none of his companions business and he has no right to verbally assault his sister’s integrity to a complete stranger. “Shall we go inside?” He asks wondering if he should offer his hand or his arm, he hasn’t done this before and there is a reason for it because it is damn well creepy and awkward. 

“Of course, your sister was a little vague on the details she just told me to dress well. Am I just your date for this evening or will I be posing as something more?” 

“People actually pretend that they have boyfriends?” 

“Of course and there are many reasons for such ruses clingy exes, revenge but mainly keeping up appearances. People desire that which they cannot have, so by appearing to be wanted they create more of a demand.” He hoped that wasn’t true as he would prefer a quiet life with less of a demand for his attention. 

They walk towards the building in silence and as they get to the doors he offers his arm and Bilbo takes it and presses close to him. For a moment he thinks he might be frightened but he soon realises there is calculation in his moves and he is simply playing a character. It was probably easier that way, adopting a character instead of being himself so then he could compartmentalise his poor life choices, though ‘poor’ didn’t seem the correct choice of words as he was sure he had spotted the blue diamond dial of a Rolex watch, which had the retail price of over three thousand pounds. He only knew that from looking for gifts for Fíli’s twenty first birthday. 

They enter the hall and are immediately approached by a waiter carrying flutes of champagne on a tray. Bilbo takes one with a smile but he declines wanting to keep a clear head. It had taken him too long to learn not to drink at these events but they dragged on and became so boring that he and Mr Jack Daniels got acquainted at the bar. He should have realised he had a problem when he had woken up in Azog’s bed but like a fool he kept on drinking consenting to sleep with Azog on two more occasions. There was a saying fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me, but what was said for a third occurrence? Surely by the third time it has become a hard habit to break.

Thankfully his sense returned and he severed his friendship with Jack when he woke up to find himself in Thranduil’s bed. At least sleeping with Azog was forgivable, there were few people that could easily lift him and manhandle him and he liked that about Azog. He didn’t have to be the boss around him and there was something honest in Azog’s desire for him that was always swayed his decision. The man wasn’t much to look at, it was true, he had a bald head too bright blue eyes, teeth too big for his mouth and half of his face was scarred from being bottled in a bar fight. His body however was a thing of beauty even if falsely gained by steroids. His body was rock solid muscle and luckily his abuse of steroids hadn’t completely damaged his package and though his cock was small because of his use of drugs he at least knew how to use it and he never left his bed unsatisfied, queasy but never unsatisfied. 

There was no excuse for sleeping with Thranduil, none whatsoever. His father would spin in his coffin if he knew he had let that man so much as touch him but he had. It was good to be the boss standing proudly on top of the mountain looking down on others but it was lonely too. The king needed a queen, as his colleagues liked to inform him. ‘The King’ was one of the many names given to him which he had earned by lording his position over them. They called him Oakenshield because he had once riled his sister and instead of facing her like a man he hid behind an oak tree. They weren’t aware that he knew they called him Puff the Magic Dragon, due to his refusal to let them see the broach his grandfather gave him. Who in their right mind gives their grandson a broach when he has a granddaughter? His grandfather apparently but it was an extremely beautiful gem and though he meant to give it to Dís he found himself keeping it in his safe at work. So they called him a dragon for hoarding gems and he imagines they went with Puff to call him a poof, he needed better friends. 

“I think he’s trying to get your attention,” Bilbo’s voice cuts through his musings and he looks over by the musicians and sees Azog standing beside his son, Bolg. Bolg was tall like his father, six foot five at a guess and a complete train wreck of a person. Like his father he had a smart mouth and a nasty eye and he had cast a vicious look in the wrong direction and paid dearly for it. A gang had jumped him from behind and repeatedly kicked him in the head before leaving him for dead. It was a miracle he had survived with a fractured skull but he was blinded in his right eye and only had twenty percent vision in his left and he was forced to wear a metal neck brace. 

His shortcomings didn’t deter Azog from practically throwing his son at Fíli and that seemed to be his current goal as Fíli stood the opposite side of the stage fretting over his speech. That was another reason why he despised these functions because of the pressure it put Fíli under. Fíli would be his eventual successor and it pained him to see Fíli buckling under the pressure, he would rather sell his company than see his nephew driven mad. 

“I’ve got to save my nephew.”

“I’ve never been asked to be a part of a dynamic duo before, let’s go Batman.” He blames it entirely on Bilbo for approaching Azog with Adam West’s batman theme in his head. He feels less jovial as he sees Azog’s eyes narrow as he notices Bilbo at his side.

“Azog, Bolg,” he greets.

“Thorin,” Azog returns before looking at Bilbo. “And who is this?” 

“Bilbo Baggins,” Bilbo answers before he can and holds his hand out. Azog takes it and steps forward preventing Bilbo from seeing his hand stray to his crotch. He slaps the hand away, tired of the way Azog thought he was entitled to his body because they had slept together. Undeterred Azog grabs his ass instead and it takes all of his self restraint not to punch the bastard in the face, which is more self preservation really because he’s pretty sure Azog could take him in a fight. 

“How’s Fíli?” Azog taunts without moving his hand and he feels disgusted that he allowed this twat between his thighs, although he was very good with his tongue, especially when he...no he wasn’t going to think of that.

“Fine,” he spits out.

“And Kíli?”

“Fine.” 

“You?”

“Fine.”

“You look it,” Azog compliments and pats him on his ass. If he didn’t have so many shares in his company he would kill him. “Did you bring us a present? Do you want to fuck him while I fuck you? Or shall we share him, open him up together?” Surprisingly Bilbo does not look terrified beside him nor does he look interested he seems to be on pause as if waiting for the outcome to determine his character. “Am I wrong? Maybe we’ll share you, always knew you were a slut, Thorin.” 

“Ahem!” Fíli’s voice is amplified by the microphone and he takes the chance to step away from Azog as the disaster has been averted. Once Fíli has made his speech he would be able to dodge Bolg by himself without him running interference. He notices Azog seems invested in the figures Fíli is talking about and he takes the opportunity to cross the room away from him.

“Well he’s a character, I was warned about him. So then who is Cashmere Candy Cane?” He’d cover his companion’s mouth if it didn’t seem highly inappropriate and non-consensual though that begs the question if anything he did with Bilbo could be considered non-consensual since the man was bought and paid for but that line of thinking led to a can of worms that wasn’t worth opening. 

“A living breathing Ken-doll,” who he had slept with and he dearly hoped that didn’t make him Barbie. 

“That pretty boy over there?” Bilbo asks, pointing. He looks across what could be considered the dance floor though no one is dancing and eyes the back of a youth with long straight white-blond hair. He is wearing a tight fitted green suit the make of which he cannot tell from so far away but there is not one item of cashmere on him which means he is the son, Legolas. 

“No, that is his son.” He finds it hard to take his eyes off Legolas, and not because the boy was attractive like his father but because of what he was trying to accomplish. It was akin to watching a car wreck in slow motion you know you shouldn’t watch but you damn well can’t turn away. Legolas was quite clearly trying to catch the eye of Kíli’s red-haired friend, Gimli if memory served him well. He was barking up the wrong tree as Thranduil was responsible for Gimli’s father losing his job over false claims of money-laundering which also led to a brief stint in prison for the innocent man. Legolas either didn’t know or didn’t care as he tossed his hair and posed, the scene would be complete with David Attenborough voicing his thoughts on mating rituals between two different species. 

“Heads up,” Bilbo warns before Thranduil suddenly appears before him like a cashmere ghost.

“So you have finally decided to grace us with your presence,” Thranduil taunts with his nose in the air. There are only a few inches height difference between the two, and he wouldn’t put it past Thranduil to have lifts in his shoes to gain an added advantage. As is it the ex-model uses his height advantage at every turn and ignores his personal space as if it is not common courtesy not to. “And who is this...” Bilbo visibly perks up under Thranduil’s scrutiny, the poor misguided fool. “Sewer rat?”

“That is my date, Bilbo Baggins.”

“Well there is no accounting for taste.”

“Obviously, I slept with you.” He retorts enjoying the way one of Thranduil’s too thick eyebrows raises in response. Bilbo snickers beside him and he counts that as a double win. 

“A pity you weren’t this feisty in bed. Have you seen my son?” He wonders why Thranduil doesn’t know the location of his son until he notices the black cashmere trench coat that covers a silver cashmere suit and he can faintly smell the cigarette smoke that clings to the man’s long white-blond hair and clothing. 

“Not today,” he lies, tired of Thranduil trying to throw his son at him. Legolas was half his age but that didn’t stop Thranduil presenting him like a prized mare to a stallion. Thranduil was determined that Legolas marry into money and he was well aware of the overtures made towards Kíli.

“As always, Thorin, it hasn’t been a pleasure,” Thranduil replies haughtily and stalks off in the opposite direction to where Legolas stands now bickering with Gimli. 

“I need a drink,” he mourns aloud. Even with a date the evening was still as nightmarish as ever and he wanted to find a dark corner with Jack and become paralytic.

“Shall I get you bottled water?” The more Bilbo speaks the more he thinks he is no escort but an agent of Dís’. He nods and watches Bilbo head towards the bar as he scans the room. He spots Kíli surprisingly chasing a skirt, a tall red-haired lass that usually accompanies Legolas as his beard. The poor boy is out of his league if she was one of Thranduil’s stock and Fíli looks absolutely heartbroken watching his younger brother flounder. 

The room is eerily quiet with a low murmur of voices that it reminds him more of a wake than a function and he has had had his fill of them. He notices the musicians sat idle on the stage and sends a sharp look their way and if he has to go over there they’d certainly know about it, he isn’t paying them a substantial amount of money to sit on their arses. He manages to catch the eye of the flute player who he internally calls the Mad Hatter but has an equally unusual name. He was always chirpy and quite frankly it was annoying and it brought him a great amount of joy when he managed to wipe the smile off his face with a pointed look. 

The band begin to play as Bilbo returns with his water, bottled with an unbroken seal, he had expected a glass with ice and lemon. Was Bilbo trying to prove a point? That he had not addled his drink with some narcotic? He highly doubted the little man was going to spike his drink because what would be the point? Still better safe than sorry and he had to drive home and he wanted to return in one piece. 

“Do you require me to be your dancing partner?” Bilbo asks, and no what he requires is a glass with ice and a slice of lemon. 

“Do I look like a contestant on Strictly? I keep as far away from the dance floor as I can get.” Unless of course Jack convinces him that he is such a great dancer and should show everyone, that Jack Daniels was a bad influence. 

“Shall I just stand here and look pretty then?” Bilbo replies smartly, clearly annoyed with his snappish responses. 

“If you can manage it.” He’s being obnoxious and he is fully aware of it but Bilbo is bought and paid for and doesn’t have the luxury of slapping him in the face and storming off. 

Although his plan was to avoid the dance floor at all costs he had forgotten that he had belittled his sister in front of a stranger and hell hath no fury. She might have gone easier on him had he not insulted her dress because he is under no illusion as to what has upset her. He could have called her a bargain basement slut, he wouldn’t of course, but he could have and she would have taken it on the chin but he had foolishly insulted her dress and there was no coming back from that. 

So he was dragged onto the dance floor by his thankfully covered sister and forced to sway like a ponce just to appease her. He knew why she had done it, this wasn’t a dance floor it was the open sea and there was blood in the water and the sharks were circling. After one dance she leaves him and he is immediately grabbed by Azog.

“Is that your boyfriend?” Azog demands so angry he wonders if he shot-up in the bathroom. 

“No,” he answers back and pulls Azog’s hand out of his trousers. 

“I could be your boyfriend.”

“I can’t date share holders, company policy.” He lies quickly, pulling Azog’s hand out of his trousers once again. The rest of their dance must seem like an elaborate game of patty cake as he keeps smacking Azog’s grabbing hands away. 

“I’ll never stop thinking I have a chance with you until I see a ring on your finger.” Azog tells him, as he takes his leave. He wonders if Bilbo has a spare ring on him, but he doubts it, who walks around with a random gold band in their pocket? He thinks he might have to buy one himself but it wouldn’t be wise, Azog had enough shares to seriously hurt his company if he should suddenly sell so what were a few gropes for the safety of his personal economy? 

He backs off the dance floor or at least tries to until he collides into someone. Thranduil catches his wrists as he turns around and pulls him against him settling his hands on his sharp hips. For a man that constantly throws his son at him he certainly likes to get close. He’s quite sure the man has no concept of personal space and so he keeps his head down and, Jesus Christ, cashmere slippers? Seriously? 

“Legolas has grown very fond of you.” Bullshit, he’s pretty sure Legolas was outside throwing a bitch fit because Gimli told him in no uncertain terms to fuck off. He liked that kid he’d have to hire him and his father just to spite Thranduil. 

“We both know that’s not true, why don’t you marry me?” He’ll regret his words later and he can’t even blame it on Jack. 

“You’re too old and going grey.” Bitch, but it was unfortunately true about the grey at his temples.

“Well I’m sorry about aging gracefully bottle blond,” he replies sweetly, too sweet to be sincere. He wants to ask if he is too old for Thranduil then why not for his son but to be fair he doesn’t want to know. The dance finishes in silence with Thranduil deliberately stepping on his toes that are already hurt from the new shoes. He manages to stamp on his foot before they depart and he enjoys the grimace on the man’s face, serves him right for wearing slippers. 

Just when he thinks he can leave, Bilbo falls into his arms and from the rest he is certainly heaven sent. He decides to show him off mainly to piss off Thranduil but if Azog gets angry then that is just an added bonus, killing two birds with one stone. They make good use of the dance floor and he uses it to spy on the guests. To his horror Fíli is dancing with Bolg and it looks as if he is actually flirting with him, smiling widely and batting his eyelashes. He knew Dís’ moves when he saw them but Fíli had no male role model in his life so of course he would pick up flirting technique from his mother. 

Another spin around the dance floor and he sees what he believes is responsible for Fíli’s drastic actions. Kíli is in the arms of the alarmingly tall red-head that practically dwarfs him. He honestly thought the boy didn’t stand a chance but he is on full-on charm offensive and the lass is laughing and staring at him in wonder. Dís would have her work cut out for her later and someone needed to speak sense to Fíli because he certainly didn’t want Azog in the family. 

“You seem stressed,” Bilbo observes. “Anything I can do for you?”

“Kiss me like you want to fuck my brains out so we can leave.” He doesn’t actually expect Bilbo to do it so he is quite surprised when Bilbo pulls the band from his hair, allowing his long dark hair to spill over his shoulders before he grabs a fistful and yanks his head down. Their lips meet and Bilbo’s tongue immediately enters his mouth in a hungry desperate kiss as the smaller man rubs against him. It’s desperate and frenzied and best of all believable so much so he almost thinks Bilbo wants this until he remembers Bilbo is just an actor and he has given him a stage direction. 

The catcalls soon start and he’s sure Kíli is responsible for most of them but they have not said what he is hoping for so he kisses Bilbo harder and grabs his ass for all to see. He imagines they probably look like they belong on the cover of a trashy romance novel, he being a dark-haired Fabio and Bilbo being the love-struck woman. 

“Get a room!” Finally someone utters the magic words, and at a guess it was the head of his security Dwalin Fundinson. He’d have to send that man a fruit basket and add a nice little bonus in his pay packet. He parts from Bilbo and grabs his hand and hurriedly they make it out of the door and then manage a slow walk to his car. 

“Laugh if you must,” he says as Bilbo settles in the passenger seat and buckles his belt. 

“Why would I laugh? I drive a Land Rover Discovery, I even named it Myrtle.” Bilbo informs with a grin and more than ever he believes he has been coached and is working for Dís. 

“Where would you like me to drop you off?” 

“Not to toot my own horn or anything but your sister paid for twelve hours and you have six of them left and I don’t come cheap so I’d use them.” He looks at his watch £12 off the market and sees that it is already 1am just how late was he? The cinema would be closed and most of the respectable bars and restaurants would be chasing out the last stragglers, which left night clubs which neither of them were dressed for. Plus they were all filled with entitled students which would make his age seem so much more apparent and really he had enough nicknames he didn’t want to add Thorin Savile to the list. 

“Do you want to go back to my place?” 

“Sure.” He buckles his belt and turns on the engine. He doesn’t make a habit of bringing people to his flat, in fact he can count on one hand how many people he has had over. It’s more of a safety precaution than anything else because he doesn’t trust easily and he doesn’t want anyone knowing where to find him. There are records, of course and they could follow him but if they were that gung ho about it he was bound to be found but he didn’t want to actively help them. 

The drive is short so he could have walked but he didn’t quite feel like living up to his name by taking his chances on a dark London street. There’s daring and there is suicidal and frankly he didn’t want to be killed over a £12 knock-off watch. Bilbo is quiet the entire drive and even as they take the elevator up to his flat. He thought he might hear a sound as he opens his door and allows Bilbo inside, maybe an intake of breath or a look of awe at the very least but he forgets Bilbo is sporting the three thousand pound watch and he isn’t. 

“Can I get you a drink?” He offers remembering to hang his keys up beside the phone.

“Tea, milk and two sugars please.” He goes into the open kitchen and puts the kettle on and watches Bilbo wander over to the fireplace to look at the one photo. It’s only a 6X8 of Dís, Fíli and Kíli he had taken at Blackpool but it was a good day and a fond memory and he liked how the picture turned out even if his thumb did catch the edge of the lens. He had considered cropping it from the shot but it was a nice reminder that he was there with them and he’d rather be a moron getting his thumb in front of the camera than a twat with a selfie stick. 

The kettle boils and he gets out two cups and pours the drinks before joining Bilbo in the living room and setting the cups on the glass coffee table before sitting down on the white three piece suite. Bilbo joins him sitting closer than necessary and he can’t help but stare at the man in wonder as he looks more like a grocer or school teacher than a prostitute. 

“So how did you end up in your profession?” He words it as best he can without further insult but Bilbo still snorts into the cup as though he finds his question amusing. 

“You were expecting Julia Roberts-esque thigh-highs and denim shorts?” Yes, actually.

“Would you be mad if I said I was?” 

“I’d be surprised if you weren’t. There’s a certain stigma attached to escorts and far too many people have seen Pretty Woman. I was a struggling writer, still am to be fair and I spent my inheritance on my education believing I’d get snapped up right away. Luckily I owned my home but the bills were piling up but then I heard a neighbour of mine had used an escort agency and said how he was a proper gentleman and how much he cost. I looked into it and one of the agencies hired me and the rest is history.” He finishes with a shrug. “What about you, what’s your story?” 

“My Grandfather founded Moria Tech, an overnight success and it seemed anyone who was anyone bought stocks and shares. By the end of the week my grandfather was a millionaire and by the end of the year a multimillionaire closing in on a billion. He had always been well off but to make so much in such a short amount of time threw him. It stopped being about tech and it all became about the money which he spent frivolously and he loaned a large portion of it with no paperwork to prove it. Other companies started to appear ripping off our ideas and some were stolen because my grandfather forgot to get them patented. Moria Tech was considered bad stock and it died in the same way it was given life, over night and catastrophic. They said my grandfather had a heart attack soon after but I’m not sure that’s true. My father tried to pick up the pieces but all he could do was sell all of our granddad’s things and our things as well. It didn’t make much of a difference as we were still in the red and then my mother father and brother died in a car accident and I was landed with the company. It was so far in the red I was advised to go into liquidation but I couldn’t do that. I found some un-patented designs that our tech team had come up with that looked promising but I couldn’t fly them under the Moria flag as it had such a bad reputation and so I founded Erebor Tech by using my family’s life insurance payout and like its predecessor it was an overnight success. I rehired our research team, made sure all future products were trademarked and used the money to bring Moria out of the red and into the black.” 

“Wow, well that’s certainly a story.” Bilbo replies and finishes his tea. “Is that why you don’t have the time to date?”

“Between work and Dís there isn’t really any time.” He answers back with a well rehearsed lie. He could make time but he hadn’t encountered anyone worth it. 

“Same, well between work and my book.” He smiles carefree even though what he is basically saying is that he is chasing an impossible dream. “So what would you like to do?” He’d like to take Bilbo home and go to bed but they’ve come this far it would be a shame to waste it. 

“What do you suggest?” He enquires setting his empty cup on the coffee table. He will probably be marked down in a book as being a difficult client but the truth was he wasn’t entirely sure how escorts and prostitute differ or if in fact they did. 

“That depends on the client, I could play house with you and keep you company do some chores perhaps, play the doting wife. Or I could be the Anastasia to your Mr Grey...”

“Gandalf?” He interrupts, wondering why on earth Bilbo would want him to role play as the old eccentric oil tycoon. 

“Christian,” Bilbo replies, giving him a look of confusion. “Fifty Shades of Grey?” He offers and he remembers seeing the adverts on the television but hadn’t paid it much attention. 

“Not seen it,” he says with a shrug and winces as his shoulder aches from the action. His neck, shoulder and back had been aching for days as he had done little else but sit in his chair at work and stare at the computer screen. 

“You seem tense, would you like a massage? I’ve been told I’m very good.” It’s something to do and Bilbo did offer and so he nods. “Go into the bedroom and get undressed, tie a towel around your waist and then lie on the bed on your front and I’ll see what I can find.” He’s not keen on having Bilbo snoop around his flat but his shoulder does hurt and Bilbo has taken the brunt of his ire all night, so he gets up and shows Bilbo to the bathroom while he goes into his bedroom. 

His toes are sore from the pinch of new shoes and from Thranduil standing on them and he happily kicks his shoes off and rolls his socks down and off. He shrugs out of his blazer and loosens his tie that always feels more like a noose and pulls it over his head and drapes the ligature around one of the bed posts. He unbuttons the white Richard James shirt, then takes it off and folds it over the back of the chair. The trousers were fitted so a belt was unnecessary so he unbuttons and unzips and pushes them down along with his black boxer-briefs and steps out of them, kicking them beneath the chair. There was already an abandoned towel in his room from towelling his hair dry earlier so he wraps it around his waist as Bilbo enters. 

“I found some body lotion,” Bilbo says while entering the room, eyes firmly on the bottle that he held. “Is it okay if I use...this?” Bilbo falters and swallows thickly as he turns to look at him. It’s nice to be looked at and wanted and he smirks before crawling onto his bed, deliberately slowly stretching out his muscles letting Bilbo see almost all of him as he settles on his stomach in the centre of his bed. 

“That’s fine,” he lowers his voice enjoying the way the deep baritone makes Bilbo shiver. Bilbo discards his own jacket and rolls up his sleeves before kicking off his shoes and joining him on the bed. His soft hands tentatively grip his shoulder and Bilbo makes a noise of disapproval.

“So tense this may hurt as I work out the tension but it will be worth it.”

“I like pain with my pleasure,” Bilbo laughs out loud.

“Oh I’ll remember that when you’re whimpering and begging me to stop.” 

“In your fantasy,” he replies and feels Bilbo climb over his back, resting his knees either side of him. His long hair is brushed over his shoulder before he feels Bilbo’s hot breath against his ear. 

“You have no idea,” Bilbo practically purrs in his ear before gently biting down on his earlobe. He moves away and he can faintly hear the snap of the seal on the lotion before Bilbo’s wet hands are rubbing oil over his back, neck and shoulders and down to his hips stopping at the curve of his posterior. “I’m going to start with a Swedish back massage just to loosen up your back and see where the tension is.” Bilbo informs him climbing off and moving so he is knelt by his head, for a moment he thinks it is all a ruse to get a blow job until Bilbo’s presses the heels of his hands against the middle of his shoulders and pushes down, gliding along his spine all the way to his lower back and parts his hands to circle over his hips. 

The tension in his shoulders is made even more apparent as Bilbo repeats the action four more times until he deems his muscle appropriately relaxed and then he focuses his attention on his neck, realigning deeper layers of muscles and connective tissue. He groans in discomfort as Bilbo moves onto his shoulders, his hands moving slower and the pressure is deeper as he concentrates on that area. It hurts but it is not outside of his comfort zone and he knew the benefits of a deep tissue massage so he refused to have him stop. 

“You should take better care of yourself,” Bilbo whispers quietly and he thinks this would go better accompanied by pan pipes or whale sounds but he has neither. If Dís were to call they could listen to the Imperial March as he had downloaded that ringtone especially for her but it didn’t seem right even if Bilbo was in a kind way, beating the hell out of him. 

Bilbo uses his elbow to grind into the meat of his shoulder and he cries out and buries his face into the pillow. It hurts but immediately he can feel the release of tension and he rolls his shoulders experimentally grateful that his mobility is restored but his muscles are tender. Bilbo continues with his right shoulder only using the heel of his hand to release what little tension was there before he resumes the Swedish massage. 

His shoulder feels torn apart but the rest of him feels boneless and he hasn’t felt so relaxed in years. He wants to close his eyes and sleep for a week and a day. “You may need to put ice on that shoulder; I went pretty hard on you.”

“You just wanted to make me scream,” he teases drowsily, he should fetch that ice but he doesn’t want to move, ever. 

“I won’t deny it,” Bilbo replies and presses a kiss to his shoulder. “I’ll do your legs now.” He informs and moves down the bed positioning himself at his feet. Aside from pacing his office in a foul mood, or quickly and quietly rounding on his secretary Ori because he’s a dick and likes terrifying him, he isn’t on his feet much. Still, Bilbo’s hands on his calves feels nice and he’s glad he went for laser hair removal treatment because matted man-fur would be unattractive right about now. 

He closes his eyes as Bilbo rubs the lotion onto his calves and thighs and rubs up his legs with steady sure strokes. He avoids thinking about how intimate it was, well at least he tried until Bilbo started working on his glutes and he realised just how close Bilbo was to actually touching him intimately. When Bilbo parts his legs and reaches under his thigh his tranquillity is lost due to the stirring in his groin. It’s a natural reaction to being so well tended so he ignores it as best he can and just enjoys Bilbo’s hands gliding over his body. 

A few leg stretches and a foot massage later and despite the insistent between his legs he’s ready to fall asleep. “Wake up and turn over,” Bilbo insists patting him on the thigh to get his attention.

“Erm...no.”

“No? Why not?” Bilbo actually sounds sad and he surprisingly feels bad about it, which is new, making people feel bad was one of his favourite pass times. 

“I can’t.”

“Why can’t you? Ooh I see, it’s perfectly natural now turn over.” Reluctantly he turns over and is embarrassed by his cock standing to attention beneath the towel. It was a perfectly healthy size and he had received no complaints so he wasn’t embarrassed by that but by the fact that he was hard in the first place. He wasn’t a teenager anymore and he thought he would have better self control but apparently he didn’t. 

He expects Bilbo to continue with his leg massage so when the smaller man pulls off his towel, he refrains from screaming like a girl but it was a close thing, and he grabs at it. “What are you doing?" He demands but the look in Bilbo’s smouldering dark eyes silences his further protests. 

“What do you think?” Bilbo taunts cheekily and leans down to press a kiss to the head of his cock. “Lie back and enjoy,” he lies back too weak to refuse. His body was relaxed and a blow job seemed a great way to end what turned out to be a relatively good night and he had the added bonus of being selfish enjoying all Bilbo had to give him with no expected reciprocation. 

Bilbo pressed kisses down the length of his cock as he fisted the quilt beneath him instead of in the short mess of Bilbo’s bronde hair like he wanted. He would neither encourage nor discourage Bilbo’s actions as he wanted to see what the man was capable of and considering his profession he expected only good things. Bilbo mouthing at his balls distracted him from his thoughts, especially when he sucked one and then both into his mouth wetting his sac thoroughly before releasing them with an obscene pop of his mouth. He’s surprised he’s as turned on as he is but he thinks it’s because Bilbo looks so angelic and soft he hadn’t thought he was capable of such depravity. 

Bilbo runs his tongue up the underside of his cock, tracing over the throbbing vein as he moves a hand between his legs and a wet finger circles his entrance. He’s not sure what to make of that but any response is derailed as Bilbo encloses his lips around the head of his cock and slowly takes him into his mouth. He uses the distraction to press a finger up inside him and he parts his legs for Bilbo, making it easier for him. 

He wonders if the man means to fuck him as a second finger joins the first but his movements seem purposeful, searching rather than stretching. He feels teeth against the sensitive tip of his cock at the same time Bilbo finds his prostate and nudges against it. A moan is torn from his throat but it is definitely not from the teeth, nothing good came from having teeth so close to his manhood. Bilbo seems emboldened by his response and gently nibbles his sensitive flesh and he feels his legs spasm either in fear or because Bilbo is steadily milking his prostate. 

He’s a hot writhing mess by the time Bilbo stops tormenting him with his teeth and takes him further into his mouth while holding the base of his cock. Slowly he begins to pull back, mouth and hand working in sync as he bobs his head and sucks. His heart hammers in his chest as he watches the nymph suck him and look up at him with dark knowing eyes and a smirk forms on his full mouth. 

He feels entirely helpless against the smaller man and so turned on it physically hurts. He liked the way Azog overpowered him and this felt the same way though different. Azog physically held him down and while Bilbo didn’t use the same strategy he still felt pinned all the same. He felt relaxed before but he’s soon on edge again, every nerve ending on fire as he nears his orgasm. 

Bilbo does not disappoint and relaxes his throat, removing his hand to take him all the way in. He tries his best not to buck his hips but he’s not entirely sure he manages as Bilbo pushes another finger inside him and fucks him fast deliberately hitting his prostate with every push. He will later deny all knowledge of the wrecked sounds he makes as Bilbo deliciously and effectively tortures him. 

He tries to warn him of his approaching climax but words fail him and with a final moan he releases himself into Bilbo’s mouth and feels the man swallow around his length. He drops down onto the bed boneless not realising he had sat up while Bilbo’s fingers remain inside him and the man is still sucking his cock. He’s like a dog with a bone, terrible analogy really but it was the best he could come up with since it feels like his brain is pouring out of his ears. 

He stares at the white ceiling breathing heavily as Bilbo continues to swallow around his cock possibly making sure he didn’t make a mess when he removed his mouth. Finally Bilbo begins to move away and with one final lick to the oversensitive slit he pulls back with a smile licking his lips like a dirty whore before his eyes fall between his legs. The fingers start moving inside him again and he wonders if Bilbo might try adding a fourth as he was relaxed enough and he was sure he could take it. 

“Such a slut,” Bilbo says without insult and he feels his body tremble. He was a fan of dirty talk and the only person who ever seemed to say what he liked to hear was Azog. Thranduil didn’t know the difference between dirty talk and blatant insults and he had such an archaic view on sex. He liked that Bilbo didn’t and took the initiative to finger him, Thranduil was too set in his ways and believed anyone willing to get on their backs was the lesser, and he tried to lord it over him just because he had his cock inside him like it was a big deal. America had just legalised gay marriage, it was legalised in the UK in 2013 times had changed and things weren’t so cut and dry now. 

Bilbo doesn’t try for a fourth and instead removes his fingers and wipes his hands on the stolen towel. By his reckoning Bilbo has three hours left but his eyes feel heavy and he’s not sure he could do anything else even if he wanted to. 

“Sleep now, I’ll wake you at seven with breakfast, ham and eggs okay?” He nods, wondering if he has enough energy to go to the bathroom and brush his teeth. He has only drank water since he last brushed his teeth so he thinks he can go without. “Happy Birthday, Thorin.” He cracks an eye open and stares at Bilbo in surprise.

“You knew?” The man nods looking every bit the grocer/school teacher he met earlier.

“Of course, Dís told me. I wasn’t only your date I was your birthday present.”

“Would you mind if I hired you again?” The smile Bilbo gives him is almost blinding.

“Not at all now sleep, I’ll wake you up later Birthday Boy.” Bilbo presses a quick kiss to his lips and helps him get into bed and lies beside him as he drifts off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the abundance of English references, if you’re unsure about anything feel free to ask. 
> 
> This is my attempt at a PWP and as you can see if didn’t go to plan.
> 
> Also The Exiled Prince has not been forgotten I just needed a break and it will be finished this week. 
> 
> Thank you for reading x


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